


Trace Evidence

by Frangipanidownunder



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-09-17 18:13:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16979421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frangipanidownunder/pseuds/Frangipanidownunder
Summary: Post Millennium, for the prompt 'I found you with a snowflake on your nose'.





	Trace Evidence

He watches her for the longest time. Hands deep in pockets, rubbing the grit between his fingers. Her breath freezes in front of her and like a Rorschach test he silently names each shape.

This is a butterfly, with gossamer wings and peacock colouring. This is a puppy, snuggled in a blanket, safe. This is a flower, a tender bloom testing the boundaries of spring with its silky petals. This is a heart…

He shakes his head, cringing at his own sappiness. It’s amazing, he thinks, how a new millennium can reshape a life. How two days into a new century has offered him a fresh perspective on the future.

He kissed her. She kissed him back. What was he supposed to do? The whole world was doing it. A Mexican wave of kissing. It would have been rude not to. That’s what he told her later, when she pulled up outside his apartment and the drugs were kicking in. He had an out of body experience. He saw the white light. He floated up and saw himself kissing her again. This time she lingered longer before pulling away and biting her lower lip.

“That’s the second time you’ve kissed me today, Mulder.”

“Ditto,” he said and made her laugh. “Besides, Scully, we couldn’t not kiss, could we? It was kinda compulsory.”

“Mulder, you’re slurring your words. You need to sleep. Let me help you upstairs.”

She shouldered his slumping form and opened his door for him. Unshucked his coat, pushed him to his bed. Insisted he lay still as she removed his shoes and asked if he wanted her to take his pants off. There was a pink stain blooming on her chest and neck but she remained Dr Scully through and through.

“Would have been rude not to kiss you, Scully.” The words were an effort, an ache on his tongue. By that stage, he wasn’t sure if it the pain was truly in his shoulder or if it had nestled in his heart.

She half-giggled and tucked the covers under his chin. “Sleep, Mulder.”

“Staying?”

She didn’t answer. Just slipped away. When he woke late on New Year’s day, she was cross-legged on his couch, blanket around her shoulders, head in a book. There was a small plate on his coffee table, crumbs dotting the cracked glaze. He wasn’t sure what she’d rustled up but his stomach yowled and she looked up.

“I wanted to make sure you were okay,” she said and that same pink stain blushed her cheeks.

He lifted his arm and tapped his shoulder lightly. “A-OK, Doc.” But it did hurt. That same pain spread across his chest and up into his throat, trapping any more words, trapping his breath. But this time he knew it was a good pain. The heartache of the best kind.

Now, she turns towards him, her nose red, shoulders hunched against the bitter wind. He looks up at the rangy grey cloud mass, rumbling overhead. The first flakes fall between them as she closes the distance. She rubs her gloved hands together.

“There’s nothing to see here, Mulder. No trace evidence. Let’s go.”

He watches her walk to the car, pull open the door, look up at the sky. It’s like watching someone new, yet someone so familiar. The psychologist in him recognises the feeling as the chemical reaction of attraction. Dopamine. Making the sky seem bluer, the birds more melodious, the mood heighten. Then there is the phenylethylamine that leads to a more focused atrention on the subject at hand. The central nervous system constantly sending messages to the body so that it craved a response to the stimulus. A brief nod of the head, a glimmer of that rare smile, a simple ‘Mulder, come on’ and his skin heats up, his pulse jumps, his fingers tap his thighs.

He stands behind her, swipes snow off her shoulders. She turns in surprise. And then he sees them. Tiny crystals over her face, stuck in her hair, her eyebrows, on her lashes, frozen like perfect diamonds. And one on the tip of her nose. He thumbs it away, holds it up between them until it melts.

“Leaving no trace evidence,” he says out loud and she blinks, dislodging more flakes,

“What?”

“Perfect symmetry, gone in a microsecond. Nature’s patterns just disappear. Don’t you think that’s sad, Scully?”

“It’s a snowflake, Mulder. Not a crime scene.”

He sighs, bends to kiss her cheek, relishing the cold of her skin. He wipes his lips and smiles.

She touches her cheek, cocks her head. “What was that for?”

“Just an experiment, Scully. No trace evidence. But that didn’t feel sad. It felt good.”

“It did,” she concedes.

This small victory gives his body the response it craves and he walks to the drivers side, letting the snow fall on his face.


End file.
